New Year's Day
by bravevulnerability
Summary: "I'm supposed to be with you. And you're supposed to be with me, no matter what world we're in. So when you find me, don't let me go." Sequel to 'Change in Realities'. Two shot. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This piece follows the events of 'Change in Realities', in which Kate is the one to end up in the AU world we're allowed a glimpse into during 7x06, 'Time of Our Lives'.**

* * *

 _The screams resounding through the ballroom pierce his senses, the shout of officers evacuating attendees and putting the place into lockdown. He should go, he knows she would tell him to go, but he's rushing to her side, where he never should have left, and dropping to his knees. The blood on the floor seeps through his slacks._

 _"Kate, no," he chokes, bowing over her massacred body. Twin bullet holes have found a home in her chest, side by side, and blood is spilling through her coat. So much blood. "Why did you do that? Why would you do that?"_

 _Her words are garbled, the life draining from her eyes, but she holds his as she says it. "Because I love you, Castle. Always - always did."_

 _Her lashes flutter before her eyes begin to roll back, fading from him, and his heart seizes._

 _"No, no, please don't go," he whispers, clutching her body in his trembling hands. "Not like this. You can't - please, Kate, stay with me. I could - I love you too, I know it," he croaks, staining her neck in streaks of red as he feels for a pulse._

 _He can hear the wail of sirens, but the heartbeat beneath his fingertips has gone silent._

* * *

The apologies won't stop spilling free. They flood from his lips with the tears when he calls Alexis, explaining what happened with held breath and as little detail as possible. He can't drag his daughter into this, not any more than he already has.

She meets him there only a few hours after Kate was taken into surgery, his daughter's concern for him overwhelming. Alexis promises him that it's okay, that she isn't mad, she isn't going anywhere, he hasn't ruined her Christmas. But they're spending Christmas Eve in a hospital waiting room, his heart in his throat and his eyes unseeing, when they were supposed to be decorating a Christmas tree together for the first time in too many years.

"I forgot the tree," he whispers belatedly, hearing Alexis sigh from her seat beside him.

"But you were going to get one," she reminds him, patiently. His kid is good at this, good with people. He wonders about the ins and outs of her job at that nonprofit she works for in LA, if she's able to put her compassion on display, or if it remains put on hold behind other responsibilities.

 _Everything I do seems so small and pointless. Nothing I do matters, so why try?_

Alexis released the question last night in her room, in the time they spent actually talking for the first time in years while Kate sat in his office, brainstorming how to get back to her true universe, her home.

He wonders if she made it, he wonders what woman he'll see when she wakes up, what world she'll wake up to. Because she _will_ wake up, she'll survive the surgery, the gunshots. She has to.

He sat down beside Alexis on the bed last night, letting his daughter vent about her job, her fears, her worries - all of it rushing from her lips like a waterfall of insecurity. Apparently, Meredith isn't a very good listener if their daughter has been bottling up so much. But, obviously, neither is he considering he hasn't been available to provide a listening ear to his kid since she was in her early teens. So he did his best to make up for it then, to tell his daughter not just what she needed to hear, but what he has learned to be true.

 _Everything you do matters. Every moment, every decision you make, it affects the people around you, it changes the world in a million imperceptible ways. No matter what your reality, you can make it better. We both can._

And he would, he vowed that to both himself and the grown up little girl sitting beside him. Because the best thing that came of Kate Beckett striding into his book party last night was the rekindling of his relationship with his daughter, the desire to make his reality better.

"You had every intention of coming back with a Christmas tree, Dad," Alexis murmurs, watching him with kind eyes, so soft and blue. It's been so long since she's looked at him with anything other than irritation, disappointment. It's been so long since she's looked at him like she loved him. "That's all that mattered to me. And this? Captain Beckett's life? Trumps that any day."

"You - Pumpkin, you didn't even know her," he points out, gently, but his daughter shrugs.

"No, but she knew you."

Castle freezes. He hasn't told his daughter any of the truth behind Kate's sudden appearance here in their world, in their lives. She would think he's crazy and he's already on such tentative footing with her.

"We just spent a day together, working on a case," he reasons, struck by it. Less than a day, less than twenty-four hours with her - that's all he got. "She doesn't know anything about me, just like I didn't know anything about her."

Well, not exactly true, but if Kate weren't from another universe, a world in which she loved him, then they really would be nothing but strangers.

"Maybe not technically, but she saw you. The real you," Alexis presses, reaching for one of his bloodstained hands and grasping it between both of hers. "And she brought that part of you out. I'll always be grateful to her for that."

His heart seizes in his chest, the spikes of his ribs digging into the muscle, and Castle slips his hand from Alexis's to wrap an arm around her shoulders.

"I missed you too," he mumbles into her hair, burying his nose in the scent of wildflowers and gingerbread. Alexis must have been baking. Does she even like to bake?

Kate would tell him to ask, to start a conversation with his kid, learn how to talk again. But his throat is thick with words left unsaid, both to the girl in his arms and the woman in surgery right now.

What could he have said to Kate, though, that he hasn't already made apparent in another life?

 _I don't even know you, but I know I love you._

He just knows what his heart feels, what it wants.

"She'll be okay, Dad." Alexis rests her head on his shoulder. "She has to be."

And for just a moment, he's able to believe his daughter, her words. Everything will be okay.

* * *

Alexis starts to doze against his side, her head lolling against his shoulder, dropping to his chest before she startles herself awake. He squeezes her arm every time, reminds her where she is, lets her fall back to rest against him. She's wearing a green sweater, he notices for the first time, an olive color that goes nicely with her dark hair. It's the first time he's seen her wearing anything lighter than black since she flew in a few days ago.

Rick sighs, leaning back against the uncomfortable plastic chair with Alexis heavy against him. It's been hours, nearing five since they took Kate behind those swinging doors and told him he wasn't allowed to follow any further, that he has to wait out here.

He isn't even family, doesn't even have any right to be here. Does she have family? Her mother is dead, she never mentioned siblings. He heard the nurses say something about calling Kate's father, but that was hours ago and no one has shown.

Light is beginning to fade outside, the night of Christmas Eve encasing the city. His daughter shouldn't be spending it in a waiting room.

"Alexis," he murmurs, shifting beneath her to sit up once more. His daughter's brow scrunches, her lips twisting with a frown. "Hey, my little raven haired pumpkin."

Her eyes peel open, staring up at him while the sleep clears from her gaze. "Too weird of a nickname, Dad."

"I like it," he grins. Well, tries to anyway; his mouth feels as if it has been fixed into a permanent frown. He rubs Alexis's arm. "You should go home, honey. It's Christmas Eve and-"

"I'm not leaving you here by yourself," she scoffs, using the arm of the chair to push herself up. She raises her arms over her head and stretches her spine. "Besides, Gram is probably at the loft by now and I don't want to deal with the Christmas party she's probably throwing for her acting troupe there."

Rick grimaces. "We really need to establish some boundaries."

"Should have done that years ago, Dad," Alexis mutters, but follows up with an apologetic glance. He doesn't mind the sarcasm, but he can tell she's trying to tone it down for him. Trying in many ways for him. He can't let it go to waste.

"No, you're right. The second the loft began to go from being a home to a glam cave, I should have stopped it, at least found a way to compromise," he murmurs, rubbing at the back of his neck. "And you know your Gram didn't mean any harm. She just… she's got a large personality and with no one there to balance her out, her personality-"

"Vomited all over our living room," Alexis fills in.

Castle chuckles, sighs. "Yeah, unfortunately. But I'll talk to her, Pumpkin. Once all of this is settled, especially if you're thinking about sticking around a little longer…"

He lets the sentence trail, doesn't want to be too presumptuous, put any pressure on her. If Alexis wants to go back to LA, he won't stop her, but if she wants to stay a little longer, he definitely won't discourage that either.

"We'll see," Alexis offers, reaching out to squeeze his hand once more. "For now, how about I do run by the loft, but just to grab you some clothes?"

He glances down to his current attire, the navy blue sweater he pulled over his head this morning, soft and warm and stained in Kate's blood, the knees of his slacks colored a deep crimson. The bile rises in his throat.

"And while I'm there," Alexis continues as she stands. "I'll grab the cookies I made this morning, bring the whole plate here. Should help when you eventually need to bribe the nurses."

His eyes flicker up to his daughter, watching him with a smug curl to the corner of her mouth.

His own lips quirk. "Smart thinking."

Castle rises to hook his arm around her just one more time, to savor this moment of tenderness amidst the tragedy. Kate is fighting for her life, fighting to beat the odds of two gunshot wounds to the chest, but he won't stop believing that she'll pull through and in the meantime, he's slowly mending fences with the child he unintentionally neglected for six years.

"Love you, Pumpkin," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Alexis eases back with a soft smile, more bashful than he remembers, but a smile nonetheless. "Love you too, Dad."

She snags her coat from the chair, slips her arms through while she starts towards the elevator. Castle eases his hands into his pockets as he watches her go, his fingertips colliding with something hard-

The tape.

"Alexis," he calls, a little too urgently.

Her head swivels over her shoulder, her eyebrows raised. He jogs after her.

"Take your time at the loft," he adds, falling into step with her until they're inside the elevator and his daughter is pressing the button for the lobby. "There's someone I have to meet with."

"Now?" Alexis inquires, subtle concern leaking into her gaze.

But Castle nods resolutely, clutching his fingers around the cassette tape in his palm.

"Yeah, it's about something important," he assures her as they begin to descend, but his daughter only continues to stare at him in question. "It's the reason Kate was shot."

* * *

Mayor Weldon provides him with Roy Montgomery's address without much question when Rick calls, apologizing for the disturbance on Christmas Eve, for going to so long without a poker game, promising to make up for the lost time. He tells his former poker buddy that he just needs to speak with Roy for a few minutes, that it's too urgent, can't wait for New Year's, and Bob listed it off with a sigh.

299 First Avenue.

The house the taxi arrives in front of is nice, modern, well-kept from the outside, and decorated in Christmas lights. Expensive. Begs the question of how a retired police captain is able to afford such a place.

Rick knocks on the door, holding his breath while he waits. Alexis made him come with her to the loft, insisting that wherever he was going, whomever he was meeting with, he couldn't show up covered in blood. She had a point.

But he left the sweater on, simply covered it with his coat.

If it comes down to it, he wants this man to see what his secrecy, his deception, has caused.

The door swings open and he's greeted by a woman in a bright red sweater, her smile wide, but her brow falling into a furrow at the sight of him.

"Richard Castle?" she asks, tilting her head just slightly. "The author, right?"

Castle hesitates before nodding. "Yes, I'm so sorry to disturb you, Mrs… Montgomery?"

"Evelyn," Montgomery's wife corrects, her eyes kind. He hears the sounds of children laughing in the background, can see the glow of a Christmas tree at the woman's back, and feels his stomach twist into knots.

"Maybe it's best to just leave him out of it this time, let him live," Kate said in the cab last night when the realization that even if Montgomery is dead in her world, he may be alive in this one struck.

This must be why.

"Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Castle?"

"Oh, I - yes, I'm so sorry to bother you on Christmas Eve, but I was hoping I could speak to Roy for just a moment?" Rick asks, doing his best to channel his charm, a smile, a warm gaze.

He doesn't think he concedes. Roy Montgomery's wife just looks concerned.

"Sure, he's here," Evelyn says, stepping back to allow Castle inside, but he shakes his head.

"I can wait out here."

"Mr. Castle, it's freezing," Evelyn points out, but he can't do it. Can't go inside their home, see their kids, their Christmas decorations, and say what he needs to say, find out what he needs to know, bring that darkness into a family's lives on Christmas.

"I don't mind," he assures her, tucking his hands into his coat pockets, flexing his fingers around the tape.

Evelyn shrugs. "Suit yourself. I'll be right back with Roy."

Castle responds with a polite nod while Evelyn eases the door closed. It takes only a handful of minutes for it to ease open again, an older man with grey hair and eyes that darken as they land on him slipping out into the cold.

"Mr. Castle," he greets, the assessing Rick with a skeptical gaze and a bob of his throat. "What can I do for you? Don't you have a daughter in town for the holidays?"

Unease ripples down Rick's spine at the mention of his child, but it's not a threat. There's no one left to threaten him with. Bracken is dead.

"Captain Montgomery, we've never met," Castle starts, but Roy chuckles, shakes his head.

"You don't have the best memory, do you? I've attended a couple of your infamous poker nights," Kate's former police captain reminds him. "But I can't blame you, that was years ago."

"Ah, my apologies," Castle offers, but his voice is straining under the small talk. Roy knows why he's here. Rick isn't sure how, but by the tension in his shoulders, the deepening frown lines around his mouth, he does. "Did you hear about Kate?"

Castle is surprised he doesn't remember such a good poker face.

"I was informed of Senator Bracken murder, it was hinted that Captain Beckett was involved. No other details have been released," he shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest. "I still don't understand why you're here, Mr. Castle."

"You know why I'm here," Rick growls under his breath. "You know I've been talking to Kate Beckett because you're one of Bracken's lackeys-"

"Like hell I am," Montgomery snarls, narrowing his gaze on Rick. Intimidating. "I don't know where you're getting your information, but never have I-"

"I got my information from Captain Beckett. Kate, who knows the part you played in her mother's death, how you kept silent for all these years, how you just - you let her drown in it without saying a word."

The wall of aggravation begins to slide from Montgomery's face. "She knew?"

"She just found out," Castle lies, smoothing his thumb back and forth along the cassette. "And she has evidence. It's why she went to Bracken's party, it's why he shot her."

"Shot?" Montgomery echoes, something like horror rippling across his face. "I - how… tell me she's still alive."

"In surgery."

Roy scrubs a hand over his eyes, looking so much older in the span of this single conversation. "This evidence she has, I assume that I'm a part of it?"

Castle swallows hard, confirmation enough. He hasn't heard the tape, can't say with certainty that the man standing before him has been incriminated enough on the tape to seal his fate, but by the look on Montgomery's face, Roy already knows what's on the recording.

"Why come tell me this?" he demands, lifting his gaze to Castle, not seething, not angry, only confused.

"I - Kate cares about you," Rick replies, remembering the way her features softened, the way sorrow infiltrated the lines of her face whens he spoke of her dead captain. "I haven't known her for long, but I know she didn't want you to get caught up in all of this."

 _Let him live._

"The tape will be taken to the authorities as soon as she wakes up. What you do with that information is up to you."

"Why can't you just leave well enough alone?" Montgomery growls under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. "Bracken is dead. Everything we did, the mistakes I made - they died with him."

"So will justice for Kate's mother," Castle answers through grit teeth. "Kate worked too hard to find it. It's why she's in that hospital bed right now."

Montgomery's eyes flash, the concern a strike like lightning. So he does care. Shit, somehow that makes all of this so much harder.

"I - I never wanted to ruin your Christmas, Roy. I don't want to ruin your life, but if you care about Kate at all-"

"If I care?" Roy scoffs, his eyes ascending to the night sky. "I did everything in my power to make up for all I'd done, to keep her safe, keep her alive. _This_ is exactly why. The second I gave her a name, I knew she would run straight to her own death."

Montgomery's eyes flutter, blinking away any signs of moisture.

"I just wanted to protect her the way I should have protected her mother."

Shit. Castle lowers his eyes to the ground, forcing the lump down his throat and studying the clumps of snow lining the clean sidewalk the leads to the Montgomerys' door. Has he done the right thing, showing up like this, destroying a family's lives? Has he done right by Kate, her mother?

"I can't put my family through this," Montgomery whispers, shifting back towards the closed front door.

"I - I can't imagine the position this puts you in, but the truth can't stay buried either," Castle murmurs quietly, earning the flicker of Roy's gaze.

"Vincit Omnia Veritas."

Castle's brow furrows. "Latin?"

"Truth conquers all," Montgomery translates with a nod, holding Castle's gaze. "It was a saying Johanna Beckett lived by, one Kate adopted as well . It's never stopped haunting me."

The phone in Rick's pocket buzzes and he lets out a breath, releases the tape in his grasp to claim the device instead.

It's a text message from his daughter, a single sentence that has his heart thundering.

"Kate pulled through surgery," he reads aloud, feeling breathless as he glances back to Montgomery. A sad smile crosses the other man's lips and he nods.

"You should go, I'll… I'll consider my options."

Rick's lips purse with words he wants to say, apologies for the damage he's caused tonight, but just can't. Roy seems like a decent man, a man who knew right from wrong, who tried to atone for his sins. He doesn't want her captain taken down in the crossfire either.

"If you need anything, anything I could help with, find a way to contact me," Castle offers instead, taking a step back, towards the street and the cab he paid extra to wait for him.

"Thank you, but Mr. Castle?" Rick pauses before he can turn, run to the cab and rush back to the hospital. "If you talk to Kate, tell her… just tell her that I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Castle's chest is tight, too tight with all of this, the loose ends of this tragedy that he was never meant to meddle his way into.

"I will."

He turns his back on Roy Montgomery, the guilt heavy on his shoulders, but he carries it for now. Carries it with him all the way back to the hospital.

* * *

Alexis is in the waiting room when he arrives, a plate of cookies on her lap, but despite the well-recieved bargaining chip, he's told that he can't see Kate yet, that no one can. As if that's going to stop him.

It takes only an hour of his pestering, bribing, convincing for one of the nurses to finally crack, deciding to let him take a seat in Kate's hospital room.

He forces Alexis to go home first. It's getting late, too late, too many hours spent in a waiting room for his sake, and he wants her to spend the night before Christmas in the comfort of her own bed. He promises to call, to keep her updated on Kate's progress, and finally earns the reluctant band of her arms around him in a hug goodbye and a vow to return in the morning.

And then, at last, he's being led through those forbidden double doors, down a long hallways, and into Kate's hospital room.

"It looks a lot worse than it is," the nurse, Sandra, he thinks, warns him. "She's got a breathing tube that she'll need for the next few hours at least, she's lost a lot of blood, her skin's excessively pale, there's some bruising. But she's alive and she's going to be okay, Mr. Castle. That's all you need to remember."

Rick nods, his heart pounding as his palms sweat, before Sandra eases the door open to allow him entry.

His eyes immediately search for Kate, finding her hospital bed in the middle of the room without trouble, but his breath automatically catches in his throat. The nurse's warning failed to prepare him for the way his heart would dive down to his stomach, how the acid would burn in his throat and leave him breathless.

But it's not Sandra's fault. Nothing could have prepared him for the visceral reaction of seeing Kate so damn near death.

"You can take a seat in that chair beside her bed," Sandra says, patting him on the back. "Just don't touch any of the wires or move anything, okay?"

"I - okay," he get outs, feeling the nurse disappear from his back, leaving him alone in the room with the woman in the hospital bed. The gorgeous police captain whose skin has turned sallow, whose eyes are taped shut, lips opened around the tube shoved down her throat - the only reason her chest rises and falls.

She looks so small, so devastated, and even though he's only known her a day, it's just so - so wrong.

Castle forces himself to shuffle forward, to pull the chair beside her bed just a fraction closer, needing to be as close as possible. The chair puts him at eye level with the railing of her bed, an uncomfortable position, but a perfect view. He sighs, rests his chin to the cold metal and tentatively slips one of his hands past it. He bypasses the over-starched sheets to drape his palm over her knuckles, startled by how cool to the touch her skin is.

Rick shifts closer, sitting up to cradle her freezing fingers between both of his palms. He's careful not to lift her arm, to upset the fragile state of her body, knowing one wrong move could break her.

"You're going to be okay, Kate," he whispers, gently squeezing her hand between his, willing whatever warmth left in his own body to transfer to hers. "Everything will be okay."

It has to be.

* * *

He remains at Kate's bedside for the rest of the night, her chilled hand in at least one of his at all times. He's allowed to stay when they extricate the breathing tube from her throat, watching in horror as her body violently spasms with the withdraw, squeezing her hand even though she's still immersed under a sea of drugs that keeps the pain from eating her alive.

Two gunshot wounds, one to her heart, the other just a little higher, right below her collarbone. The recovery process for this will be hell. The doctor tells him she's lucky to be alive, but she'll be just as lucky to survive the healing.

Castle begins to drift just as the sun begins to rise on Christmas morning, his cheek against the metal railing, his neck aching with the uncomfortable position and the tension building at the base of his skull. The stench of antiseptic is in his nose, the slim bones of Kate's hand wrapped in his, Montgomery, her mother's murder, her bullet wounds all swirling through his mind, drowning him in much needed sleep.

The twitch of her fingers drags him back to the surface.

Rick blinks, opening his eyes to witness the flex of her hand in his. He jerks his head up, just in time to find her eyes struggling to stay open, her brow creasing.

"Castle?" she rasps and his heart surges to his throat. Her eyes are in slits, staring at him in the dim light of her hospital room. The gold of her gaze that he grew accustomed to seeing every time she looked at him has been crushed, turned to tiny flecks that try and fail to spark in the murky ambers of her irises. He blames it on the morphine, the fact that it's her first time waking since she was shot less than twenty-four hours ago. "Richard Castle."

"Yeah, hey," he breathes, stroking his thumb over her knuckles, trying not to encase her hand in a death grip between his. But she's alive and she's awake and she knows who he is. He shouldn't be so giddy, hates himself for feeling so selfishly overjoyed that she stayed, that she didn't make it back to the alternative universe she came from. But he can't help it. She's here and he may get to keep her after all. "Hey, Kate. I'm right here."

"Why?" she slurs, watching him with drooping lids. "Why here?"

"Because - because it's where you are," he manages, tenderly squeezing her hand.

She hums, lets her eyes fall closed. "Happened?"

Castle quietly clears his throat. "Bracken - he shot you, but it's over now, Kate. We have the tape, we'll-"

"Talking 'bout?" she mumbles, eyebrows coming together in a confused furrow once more.

His heart starts to sink. Maybe it's just the medication, the pain induced haze, maybe she just can't remember right now because she's barely even awake. Yeah, that makes sense.

But deep down, he knows.

This isn't the same woman who crashed his book party, who called him on his bullshit and proved the idea of other worlds to be true. This isn't the woman who opened his eyes and pried at the walls around his heart, shedding light inside for the first time in years, who made his fingers buzz with the urge to write again, who looked at him like she was in love with him.

"Kate, do you know who I am?"

Her throat works through a swallow, eliciting a wince that ripples across her face. He can't help reaching out with the hand not encompassing hers, brushing back the hair from her forehead with gentle fingers, feeling her exhale a soft breath that heats along the skin of his wrist.

"Favorite author," she murmurs as her features begin to fall slack, sleep taking over once more.

Castle lets her go, withdrawing his hand from her forehead to join the other around her warmed fingers even while his heart splinters down the middle.

No, this isn't the same Kate. This Kate doesn't know him at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I apologize for the length of this one, but I'm wishing you all the most spectacular new year!**

* * *

Richard Castle will not leave.

The first time she opens her eyes to him is on Christmas day, half asleep and floating through numbing darkness, dreaming. She assumes he's just a dream. She hasn't read his books in years, not since he killed off Derrick Storm and his public image went to hell, but in this brief vision of him, he doesn't look like the jackass she's witnessed in the media. He just looks tired. Tired, but happy to see her.

It's a nice dream, fleeting but sweet as he brushes her hair back from her face.

But the next time she wakes, her chest is under fire, her heart succumbing to the flames, her entire body under attack and losing the battle. She doesn't understand, can't comprehend the agony overtaking her insides, why she's in a hospital bed with wires flowing from her arm and a doctor telling her to breathe. Just breathe. But her lungs are collapsing and her throat is closing, everything short circuiting. Her fingers clench around the first thing she can reach, a hand already clutching hers. Her eyes search for the source, finding that it wasn't a dream at all.

"Just breathe, Kate," he whispers the reminder, his voice strained but soft, welcoming amidst the cacophony of nurses and doctors and the screech of her heart monitor.

Richard Castle really is at her bedside.

And now, days later, he still hasn't left.

Every time she opens her eyes, he's nearby. Whether it be in the chair beside her bed, the window across the room, or messing with the little Christmas tree in the corner of the room she knows he has to be responsible for.

He's everywhere, all the time, watching her with those soft blue eyes that want so much from her, so much when she has so little to give.

"What do you want from me?" she rasps to him on Christmas day, when the pain scorching her body from the inside out is unbearable. He holds her hand through every traitorous tear that leaks from the corners of her eyes, through every wave of agony that threatens to drown her in its undertow.

He strokes his thumb along her knuckles and whispers fleeting promises until she fades into the black once more, telling her it'll be okay, caressing her senses with the rich sound of her name on his tongue. Never answering her question.

They don't talk much after that, her gunshot wounds (she still has no idea how or _why_ the hell she was shot) preventing her from asking many questions, the morphine the nurse keeps fusing into her IV line stopping her from staying awake any time Rick Castle or Doctor Davidson start to answer them.

All she's gathered in her combined hours of lucidity is that Castle was with her when it happened, that the shooter was aiming for the writer and she pushed him out of the way, took the bullets in his place. Could that be it? A man who dodged what should have been certain death repaying her act of heroism with unwavering loyalty? Is that why he looks so damn in awe of her?

It's slowly driving her insane. And when it's not him, it's the daughter, coming through the door to Kate's hospital room with a gentle smile and a smoothie from Remy's.

She's starting to favor the little Castle for that reason alone.

"Alexis is flying back to LA today," he sighs after what she's calculated as roughly seventy-two hours of camping out in her room. He's sitting in his usual spot beside her bed, his elbows braced on his knees and his knuckles digging into his cheeks, pouting. It's early, judging by the sunlight seeping through the blinds of her room, and for the first time, she's woken with a clear head, with the sharp stab of pain spearing clarity through her with every breath.

"Why?" she murmurs, familiar enough now with Castle's constant ramblings to know that Alexis is the younger Castle's name, the raven hair college girl that is his daughter. She never remembers meeting him or his kid before she ended up in the hospital, but apparently, she spent time with both him and Alexis prior to her shooting. Enough to have his daughter addressing her with admiration every time she entered the room, with a flicker of hope in her eyes every time they met Kate's.

"She has to return to work the day after New Year's, wants to be there ahead of time to settle in," he grumbles petulantly. He's so boyish for a grown man, but not in a way that could be considered immature. No, the lines carved in downward curves around his mouth indicate too much frowning, the crow's feet branching from the corners of his eyes too harsh to be the result of too many smiles. He's worn down, sad, a picture so different from what she's seen on Page Six, the smarmy playboy who no longer knew how to write. It feels cruel to even think it, but she prefers this version of him. Raw, unfiltered, and damaged in ways she hasn't yet figured out. She prefers something real. "I was hoping she would stay longer. But she said she'll be back. I wasn't planning to see her again until the summer, but she may come home by February."

His lips quirk and something inside her flutters for him. She doesn't know him, doesn't know his daughter, but she's gathered from their body language alone, their hushed conversations near the door when they thought she was sleeping, that their relationship is tentative, once strained and now on the mend from the sounds of it. She's happy for him, if that's the case, happy for the girl who brings her smoothies and calls her 'Captain Beckett' with so much unexplained gratitude. Happy for the father and daughter who found a way to make it work.

She knows how hard that can be, longs for her dad to be here now, for someone familiar. But he left for his cabin the week before Christmas, won't return until after New Year's, and there's no way to get ahold of him save for driving upstate to contact him in person.

She doesn't think she'll be driving any time soon.

It's for the best, she tells herself. Putting her dad through the knowledge of her near death experience so close to the holidays would just be cruel. Christmas is hard enough for their family.

"She told me to tell you she'll be thinking of you, hoping the best for your recovery," Castle adds, lifting those bright eyes to her face. She must look terrible, her skin pale and waxy, her hair unbrushed and oily, a hospital gown clinging loosely to her shoulders. Hardly the busty blondes he must be used to.

Yet he keeps staring at her like she's something magnificent.

It makes her nervous.

"You should have spent Christmas with her," Kate murmurs, watching the statement cast a shadow across his face. But he blinks it away, musters a halfhearted smile for her.

"I did. I went by the loft in the morning and we had a Christmas breakfast, exchanged a few gifts, and then she came back here with me. She actually spent the majority of the afternoon on the floor above us, helping deliver gifts to the kids stuck here over the holidays," he explains, pride tugging on the corners of his mouth, contagious and catching on hers.

"Good kid."

"I know, right?" he beams, leaning back in his seat with a grin. "She's a really good kid and I'm glad I get to see that again. Really have you to thank for it."

And then there's comments like that. Hints to the apparent role of importance she played in his life those twenty-four hours prior to her shooting, to the time they spent together that she can't recall, nearly an entire day wiped from her memory.

"Rick." He looks back to her with an eyebrow raised in question, automatically offering his full attention, ready to give her whatever she wants. At this rate, for whatever reason, she could ask for the moon, and Richard Castle would go get it for her. "What do you want from me?" she repeats the question from before, the one she desperately needs an answer to.

She's grown accustomed to his company, to his creepy staring and his incessant need to always speak, to waking up to see him passed out in the chair beside her bed or with a legal pad balanced on his knee, his fingers clutched around a pen that races across the page.

Those are her favorite moments, when she wakes to him unaware, writing while she watches.

But she can't continue to live with the blank space inside her mind that he has the power to fill, can't go on with the questions that only he has the answers to.

Castle stares back at her from his faithful spot beside her bed, his thumb brushing back and forth over his kneecap. A habit she's come to know. He would do the same thing to her knuckles when she wasn't coherent enough to shake her fingers free of his.

"What do I want?" he echoes, tilting his head just slightly. She would huff in exasperation if she knew it wouldn't set off a string of fireworks through her sternum.

"You're here, always here. You - you don't leave," she tries to explain, but her throat is still raw from the breathing tube both he and her doctor informed her about and her brain is hazy with medication she doesn't want.

"Do you want me to leave?"

The _yes_ is on the tip of her tongue, but for some reason, her mouth falls mute. Does she want him to leave? He's her favorite author, not a total stranger in that sense, but she doesn't know him, he doesn't know _her_ , and yet he's at her bedside like… like he belongs there, like it's his duty to stay by her side.

"Why?" she asks instead, demands and begs at the same time. It's driving her mad, the not knowing, the sudden appearance and devotion of this man in her life.

"Last time I told you, you fell asleep and I had to tell you again," he teases, but she doesn't return the tired quirk of his lips. Castle sighs and bridges his fingers together between his knees. "Third time's the charm, I suppose."

She doesn't respond, waiting for him to begin again.

"Fair warning, you're going to think I'm crazy," he prefaces.

"I already think you're crazy," she mutters, earning the flicker of amusement in his gaze.

"Well, that'll probably intensify while I explain this, until I prove that I'm not," he answers, shifting in his seat and bracing his elbows on his knees again. "Just like I thought you were crazy when you first showed up at my book party, claiming to be from another universe."

She stares back at him, willing her features to remain neutral, but he must see the immediate confusion leaking into her gaze.

"Yeah, that was my initial reaction as well," he chuckles, but she doesn't find anything about his behavior funny. She's in a hospital bed, two bullet holes in her chest that she doesn't even know the origin of, no one will _tell her_ anything, and Richard Castle is making jokes. "But then you proved it."

"Rick, I'm in a lot of pain and under a lot of medication," she murmurs, watching in secret fascination as his entire expression ripples with change, the concern spilling into his eyes for her, empathy etching into the frown lines around his lips.

He's exhausted, aged with it, but there's something beautiful in him too, something that draws her to him. It has to be sole attraction, she reasons with herself. She's always found him physically alluring, it's no surprise her gaze is drawn to the details of his face, the angles of his jaw and blues of his eyes, the crooked curve of his mouth that forms whenever he's looking at her.

"Do you want me to call in a nurse?" he asks, his eyes already ascending to the call button near her head. "We can talk later and I'll-"

"No, I just want you to explain as clearly as possible because I don't have the brain power to figure out your crazy ramblings," she growls, causing the concern in his gaze to settle. But it never disappears.

"I should probably start from the beginning then," he sighs, a self-deprecating little smile flickering across his lips before it fades. "It all started the night before Christmas Eve, you showed up at my book party."

* * *

She doesn't believe him, not a single word of this story, even when he's able to provide personal details of her life, from her coffee order to her mother's murder case. She doesn't believe him, she can't, everything he's saying utterly impossible.

Until he pulls a tape from the pocket of his jeans.

"You found this in the elephants you kept on your desk," he explains, holding the cassette between his fingers. "You told me it had the evidence you needed to convict William Bracken, the man who had your mother killed."

Her massacred heart finds the strength to pound, blood rushing to her ears. Evidence?

"I - I need to listen," she whispers, but Castle reaches past the railing of her bed, claims her hand yet again. She has the ability to slip her fingers from beneath his, but she lets them stay.

"I'll go get you a new cassette player as soon as I can, but Kate-"

"I should call Internal Affairs," she mumbles, chewing on her bottom lip. "But... if Bracken killed my mother and I killed him-"

"In self-defense," he's quick to add. "That's been made abundantly clear to all authorities, just so you know. And once they hear this tape, understand the reason you were at that party, I assume the investigation will be closed."

Kate nods, careful and slow, her mind trying to conjure up what it must have been like, how it felt to shoot the man who caused her mother's death. It's been so long since she allowed herself to dive down that rabbit hole, to let herself feel the grief that came with thoughts of her mom, of her unsolved case.

"I don't want justice to die with her," she breathes thoughtlessly, feeling Castle's fingers squeeze around hers.

"It won't, I saw to that."

Her eyes dart back to him in question, examining the sudden guilt sullying his features. "How?"

"Kate, there's someone on that tape that you care about and I - I spoke to him in person while you were still in surgery-"

"I don't have the patience for guessing games," she cuts in with a sigh, hooking her thumb around his and tugging. "Give me a name."

His adam's apple rises and falls with a swallow, his gaze trained on their loosely laced fingers.

"Your former captain," he says under his breath, so quiet she almost misses the words. "Roy Montgomery."

It's like another shot to her already battered chest.

"I'm sorry, I - I know you care about him and that you didn't want to ruin his life, that you don't want him to suffer the same fate the other Montgomery did-"

"Wait, wait," she stops him, squeezing her eyes shut for a long moment and attempting a deep breath, but it hurts too much. "Let's say I'm indulging the idea that your other world talk is real, what do you mean, same fate? And if he's on the tape and you went to talk to him..." Her eyes slide open, finding him frowning down at their hands. "You warned him, didn't you?" Kate murmurs, watching him hesitate before nodding his confirmation.

"You and I didn't talk much about him, but in the - well, the other world, he died because of all this, his family suffered that loss, and you didn't have to say much for it to be apparent that you didn't want that to happen again." The breadth of his chest, so wide and solid, expands with a long inhale. "Whatever he decides to do, face the consequences or run from them, I just thought you would want me to give him a choice."

She would. Even as the hot rush of betrayal spills down her spine at the knowledge of Montgomery somehow having a role in all of this, her loyalty to her captain, her mentor, doesn't waver. She doesn't want him to suffer, definitely doesn't want him to die, and apparently, neither does Castle.

Castle, who is staring at his knees like a little boy waiting to receive punishment. He's felt real guilt over this, hasn't he? Over her. Trying to do right by her even when he doesn't know her. Not the real her anyway.

It's twisted, everything about him and her and this odd relationship he's constructed in his head around them messy and gnarled, but it's also kind of sweet. He's sweet, but more than that, he cares. She doesn't think she'll ever comprehend why, but he's known her for only a few days, half of which she was either unconscious for or doesn't remember, and he's done more for her than anyone else has in a long time.

She can't remember the last time a person tried so hard for her.

"Castle." He glances up to her, that same devastating hope igniting in his gaze once again at whatever he must see looking back at him. "You did good."

"Yeah?" he whispers, flipping his palm beneath hers to cradle her fingers.

Kate lowers her eyes to their hands, finding it easier to study the embrace of his large palm around her slim fingers than to meet his gaze. "You'll stay, when I give my statement?"

He's already given his, apparently while he was still covered in her blood, according to the doctor who keeps smiling at her and insisting she call him _Josh_.

"Of course," he replies without missing a beat. "Speaking of staying..."

Her eyes ascend to narrow on him from beneath her lashes. She already knows she can't live alone for at least the next few weeks, that she'll need constant supervision and care throughout the beginning of what is expected to be a brutal recovery. She never doubted who would be the first to volunteer.

"This isn't the best time to bring this up, but I have a cozy little beach house in the Hamptons, right on the ocean, private location, amazing physical therapy center in town. The perfect place to recover from a gunshot wound." Castle rises from his chair, pumping her hand with one final squeeze before letting it go. "Just something to think about."

* * *

Listening to the tape Castle salvaged from their shootout with Bracken leaves her in pieces for the rest of the day. Even with all of his warnings before she pressed play, his explanations of all he knew, and the revelation of the Dragon's identity, there's something especially devastating about hearing the truth play out on a recording, to hear William Bracken confess to blackmail and murder, to hear Montgomery's part in it all.

 _I know people, Roy. Dangerous people. Anyone gets too close, like that bitch lawyer Johanna Beckett has been poking around, I'll have them killed. I've had people killed before._

It leaves her raw inside, old wounds she's tried to numb sliced open and gaping.

But she only allows herself the night to grieve, to ache, before she calls her contact in IA, grateful when Victoria Gates agrees to meet in her hospital room that same morning. She trusts the other woman, has met with her multiple times in the past and run enough background checks to know Gates is clean and won't abuse her power.

"Beckett, if we go public with this, there's no going back," Gates warns her once she's heard the tape, her eyes dark with it.

Kate nods, her eyes drifting to his empty chair out of habit. Castle has been a barnacle stuck to her side for the past five days, but maybe she's not quite as keen on prying him off of her as she initially was.

Castle left the room before Gates arrived out of respect for their privacy, giving her fingers a final squeeze before disappearing. She wishes he was here now.

"I know," she affirms, sucking in a shallow breath past her lips. Suddenly, the pretty idea of Castle's beach house in the Hamptons doesn't feel so preposterous. The second this information goes to the media, her life will become a storm and she's not strong enough to brave it right now. "I'm leaving the hospital in a couple of days, I'll be recovering out of the city."

Gates is quick to understand. "I'll contact you first. Make sure you're ready."

Gates strides out of Kate's hospital room with the tape secured in her briefcase and the plans for an after holiday reveal. Beckett didn't even realize the new year will be here in a matter of days, having lost all track of time, the days, since she woke to her world thrown off its axis. But even once Gates is gone, Castle takes a while to return. It's hours before he comes back and she's irritated with herself, at her stupid malfunctioning heart for stuttering when he walks through the door.

"Where did you go?" she questions as soon as he steps foot inside, earning the infuriating quirk of his lips.

"Miss me?"

She rolls her eyes. "No."

"I was making arrangements for the house, ensuring it'll meet your standards, Captain," he teases, smirking at her from the doorway, but she's hardly convinced.

"I haven't even agreed to go," she murmurs, assessing him with a critical gaze.

"I thought you would appreciate the break nonetheless," he shrugs, pulling the door shut behind him. "I know I've probably been driving you crazy these past few days."

"Never stopped you from sticking around before."

"What do you want from me, Kate?" he demands suddenly, the question, the strain in his voice, taking her off guard. He usually don't waver under her prickly attitude, but now, he stands in front of her with the dark smudges beneath his eyes unhidden, the blues of his irises a dull grey, the line of his mouth pursed into a thin frown; she's wearing him down. "You asked me what I wanted from you, but what do you want from me? Because you hate it when I'm here, but get upset when I'm gone, so which is it? What do you _want_?"

"I don't want anything from you. I don't _know_ you," she growls, her hand curling into a fist at her side, nails cutting into her palm. "If anything, I want you to stop treating me like I'm your obligation. To stop holding onto this weird loyalty you have to me, to some version of me that you made up-"

"I did not make it up," he snaps, reaching into his coat pocket and yanking out the legal pad she's caught him writing in nearly every night. "Does this look fake to you?"

He strides forward and drops the pad of paper atop her thigh. She snags it with a scowl, with too much force, biting back a wince while she lifts the paper to her face and scans the page of… her handwriting.

"What is this?" she murmurs, trying to follow the timeline she apparently created. She immediately has to rule out the idea of it being fake - it's not only her handwriting, but also the secret method of coding she learned from her mother, abbreviated words and phrases she's never shared with anyone else.

"When you - when the other you was trying to figure out how to get back to her universe, she wrote all of that down, trying to come up with a solution. I guess she was comparing this world to hers, but my point is that it's real. Everything I'm telling you is real, Kate. There was another version of you, here with me, and she wrote every word on that page."

Kate brushes her fingertips along the information on her mother's case, familiar facts she's had memorized for nearly twenty years now, listed in the format of a timeline, but there's more here than she's ever had. Dick Coonan, Hal Lockwood, Armen and Pulgatti - names and details she heard on the taped recording she listened to yesterday. A deal with William Bracken to ensure the safety of her father, her friends, Richard Castle. A shooting in a park, bullets in her chest, an awakening in another world.

Kate skims her thumb over the column with his name.

 _Castle:_

 _No Nikki Heat_

 _No relationship with Alexis_

 _We never worked together here._

She lowers the legal pad back to her lap and gingerly presses her fingers to the wound just below her clavicle, the one that hurts just a fraction less. It's stinging and something about slight pressure quiets the crackling burn.

"I don't believe in science fiction," she whispers, hearing his sound of exasperation from a few feet away, but she isn't done. "But I - I don't remember writing any of this. I don't remember - those twenty-four hours didn't happen to me."

"No," he sighs, taking a careful seat on the edge of her bed even though he looks ready to collapse. "They didn't."

"Did I… did she get home? Did she survive?" Kate inquires, watching his shoulders droop just a little further.

"I don't know." He scrapes a hand through his hair. "You shoved me out of the way and the bullets hit you. You collapsed and I tried to do something, to - to stop the bleeding, but there was just so much blood. It wouldn't stop and I couldn't - I didn't know how to-"

"Rick," she calls, the sound of her voice causing his eyes to blink before his head turns, his gaze finding her again. She wonders if he's disappointed with the version he sees.

She would be.

"You passed out and I had no idea if you were going to make it, who you would be when you woke up, but I think if you survived, she did too," he reasons, the hope brimming in his gaze. She finds herself clinging to it. "I think she got back to her world, killed Bracken like you killed him here, and I think she's okay."

Kate nods, tracing her thumb along the edge of the legal pad in her lap.

"Do you think I… _she_ and the other version of you." His brow quirks, some of the horror fading from his eyes in favor of intrigue. "Do you think they made it?"

His lips curl, but not into a smirk. The curve of his mouth is soft, lined with affection.

"Do you want to know what she told me? Probably the best advice she gave me while she was here?" he murmurs, answering her question with a question, distracting her with the flicker of his gaze to her mouth and the inappropriate flare of heat that flutters through her stomach. "She told me not to give up on her, on you. And I'm not."

She swallows hard, allowing her gaze to mimic his, fall to the enticing line of his mouth for just a moment.

"Because if you ever look at me the way she did, the way she looked at some other, better version of me, then you're worth fighting for, Kate Beckett."

"May be a long fight," she confesses, feeling her palms start to sweat. He's bracing a hand on the railing of her hospital bed, leaning in-

"Want to know what else the other you told me?"

"As ridiculous as that sentence is," she mumbles, watching the smile grow to reach his eyes, amusement lighting up his face. "Go ahead."

"She told me that no matter what world we're in, I'm supposed to be with you and you're supposed to be with me, so when I found you, I shouldn't let you go." Castle reaches with his free hand to skim tender fingertips along the slash of her cheekbone, ascending to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. It's the first time he's touched anything other than her hand. "This isn't how I expected us to meet again, Kate, but I'm taking your advice. I'm not letting you go."

She bites her bottom lip and he sucks in a soft breath, eases back. But she catches his wrist, lets her hand be the one to fit through his for a change.

"Okay."

His eyes widen, subtle but flaring with surprise, with delight. She doesn't think she's ever seen such a gorgeous shade of blue.

"Okay?" he murmurs, glancing down to the hand tangled in his.

"Granted, I'm still kinda doped up on pain meds, but maybe I don't mind having you around as much as I thought," she muses, watching that light in his eyes spread to illuminate every inch of his face. Beautiful man, even more beautiful when he smiles.

He cranes his neck forward, just enough to drop a kiss to her forehead, and her cheeks immediately burn with warmth. This is ridiculous, insane even, but she… she likes it a lot, likes him. More than she's liked anyone else in years.

For the first time since she woke on Christmas with two mysterious bullets in her chest and Richard Castle at her bedside, she starts to understand why she dived in front of him even if she can't remember it. She's grateful she took the hits, saved his life. Grateful he's here.

* * *

The drive to the Hamptons is as excruciating as she would have expected, every bump in the road and curving street a splice of searing pain down her sternum. They leave in the early hours of the morning, the December air frigid and biting at her bullet wounds, tightening their stitches. Castle works to make her as comfortable as possible in the back of the SUV he rented, draping a warm blanket around her shoulders and reclining the seat as far as it will go, sealing a kiss to her forehead before he shuts the door and climbs into the driver's seat.

He's been doing that a lot in the last two days, brushing tender fingers to her cheeks and sweeping kisses across her forehead, touching her whenever he can get away with it.

The pain medication Davidson prescribes her helps, coaxes her to drift to sleep after only half an hour of agony and by the time she emerges from its fog, the car is parked and Castle is gingerly unbuckling her from her seat.

"Here?" she mumbles, blinking past the bright glare of sunlight over his shoulder.

She can't believe she agreed to come to the Hamptons with him on New Year's Eve, that she's agreed to recover here for the next month. But she can hear the crash of waves in the distance, can smell the salt in the air and see the spectacular house they're parked in front of, and she can't believe how beautiful it is here.

"Yep," Castle murmurs, brushing back the loose strands that have escaped her braid. Sandra, her favorite nurse, washed her hair last night, thoroughly scrubbing along her scalp with cherry scented shampoo, and Castle's been playing with it ever since. He braided it this morning, his fingers quick and efficient, telling of many years braiding his own daughter's hair. "Do you want me to wheel you in or carry you?"

Her nose wrinkles at the idea of the wheelchair, hating every second she spent in it this morning.

"I'll take that as a no to the chair," Castle chuckles and slides an arm beneath her knees. "I'm going to lift you, okay?" His other arm eases around her back, bicep at the wing of her shoulder blade, forearm around her ribs. "Ready?"

She sucks in a slow breath and nods.

Her body spasms with a spark of pain and Rick pauses with her in his arms, waiting for it to pass before taking a measured step back from the vehicle. She deflates against his chest with a quiet sigh, biting back the hum of approval. He's warm, his heartbeat a reassuring thump beneath her, and she wouldn't mind spending more time here.

Shit, she's high on the drugs. Has to be.

"Rick?" she rasps, earning the flicker of his gaze, the gentle squeeze of his fingers at her thigh. He's unlocking the door, easing inside the house. "New year?"

That lopsided grin she's growing to adore flirts along his lips.

"Still have another few hours to go, Captain."

"Mm, don't wanna miss it," she mumbles, still too drowsy with the pain meds, her head lolling to rest her cheek at his clavicle.

"Didn't take you for the type to get excited about staying up until midnight," he muses, walking through the grand foyer of the house - mansion, she corrects. Her eyes trace along the high ceilings, the crown molding of the walls, and arched entryways. Beach house was a gross understatement used to describe the magnificent home he's carrying her through. "Not sure you're going to make it."

"I'll make it," she argues, humming as he deposits her on a sinfully soft couch, her body sinking into the cushions. Oh, maybe not. But no, no, she wants to stay awake until the clock strikes midnight and leave this past year, this past week, behind her. "Pills should wear off soon."

"I'm going to grab our bags from the car, just rest for now, Kate. You've got time."

She doesn't object, drifting in and out of sleep as he trots out of the room, returning with two duffels, one his, the other hers and packed with clothes Lanie was kind enough to grab from her apartment. She vows to call her best friend once she's healed, once she's able to actually be a best friend again. She hasn't done a great job of that over the last few years.

But she can't think about any of that now, about all the relationships she should take the time to strengthen and mend, about how her world has been turned upside down without her consent, about the man who's taken her into his home and is draping a blanket over her body. Can't think about how maybe it's all for the better. She can only sink beneath the surface and slip from the unforgiving grip of pain to float through unconsciousness.

* * *

When she finally emerges from the lapping waves of sleep, her eyes peeling open and able to stay that way, the bright blue sky has turned dark, stars scattered across the blanket of midnight blue.

"Rick?" she calls, her voice hoarse, but he isn't far.

She hears the trot of his footsteps approaching from what she assumes is the kitchen, judging by the smell of... is that grilled cheese?

"Hey, good nap?" he grins, coming into her line of sight and taking a seat on the edge of the sofa near her hip.

"Time's it?" she murmurs, holding her forearm against her chest, sealed against the bullet wound throbbing awake between her breasts.

"You still have a few minutes," he promises, stretching for the coffee table beside them and snagging a remote. A TV flickers to life across the room, one of the annual New Year's bashes already on the screen.

"It's already going to be midnight?" she groans, burying her face in the throw pillow she's been sleeping on. "I slept the day away."

"Kate," Castle chuckles, his warm palm curving at her shoulder. "Not only are you a recovering gunshot victim who had to endure a rough travel day, but you've had the week from hell. You needed the rest. Besides, you woke up in time to ring in the new year and to actually eat something," he reassures her, familiar fingers squeezing her bone before letting go. "Then we can get you settled in an actual bed for the night. Which, I've been meaning to ask - I know it would probably be easier to stay downstairs, but my bed is truthfully the most comfortable, so if you want, I can take the downstairs and you-"

"Castle." He's nervous, only tends to ramble like this when he's feeling unsure of himself. "You don't have to go out of your way for me. I'll be fine down here."

"Yeah, but-"

"You don't have to try so hard either," she adds, attempting a smile, small but hopefully reaffirming. "I'm here, not leaving."

But her reassurance only makes him sigh, rising from the couch with a scrape of his hand through his hair. Kate frowns.

"What is it?" she asks before he can venture towards the kitchen, reaching out to snag her fingers on the leg of his pants.

"I'm just - I don't want to screw this up, but she didn't even... all you told me was your coffee order. No other tips or what else you like, what you want, no details about _him_. How I could make myself better for you," he mutters, looking more defeated than she's seen in the last six days and she just doesn't understand why, where this is all coming from. "Maybe I really was having some mental break and now I dragged you into it-"

"Castle." She lets go, pushing up from her spot on the couch, can't be lying down for this, and manages to maneuver herself into a sitting position. He pauses in his pacing, glancing back to her with those heartbroken eyes. "Rick, you brought me the evidence I needed to finally close my mother's case, to bring her justice after I'd begun to accept I may never find it. How else would you have done that?"

He doesn't answer, has probably already wracked his brain in hopes of other possible explanations just as many times as she has.

"Not to mention, I've dealt with my fair share of crazy people in my profession and you don't quite make the cut."

He huffs, but the amusement is fleeting and she's the one to reach for his hand for a change.

"Maybe I don't remember any of it, maybe… maybe there's some truth to all your talk of other worlds and alternate versions of you and me." She shrugs, feeling like a fool saying it, but his face is cracking open with hope and it feeds her confidence, has her rising from the couch with bated breath to hold her chest together. "But the one thing I'm sure of after spending this past week with you is that maybe you're right. Maybe _I_ was right."

His throat ripples with a swallow, eyes sparkling like the stars outside and the glittery scene on the television.

"You barely even know me, but you... I think you could love me. Eventually."

"Sooner than you think," he blurts, his eyes flaring with the words, but her lips quirk. Not panicking. For the first time in her life, the idea of loving someone, someone loving her, isn't the scariest thing in the world.

"And I'm - I'm not there yet, but maybe I can be someday soon," she whispers, her eyes drifting to his lips as the clock on the television begins to count down, the shout of numbers filling his living room. "With a little time, maybe I can resemble this better version of myself you fell in love with."

"No," he says immediately, lifting a tentative hand to her jaw, fingertips skimming her cheek. "No, Kate. Meeting you before - it just showed me who to look for, how to find you. But this is what I want. You, just like this. "

"I wish I was more like the person you met," she confesses on a sigh, leaning into the soft cradle of his palm at her cheek. "She seems to be better at my life than I am."

"Trust me, I felt the same way while she was telling me about the other me," Castle murmurs, the pad of his thumb painting along her cheekbone. "He's way less of a failure."

"Castle," she admonishes, letting go of his hand to grip his hip.

"And he had you."

"No, you have me," she murmurs, insists, tilting her chin until her lips are grazing the edge of his jaw. "Other realities, other versions of us - real or not, they don't matter and I don't want to talk about them anymore, because they aren't us."

Something in his eyes begins to clear, like he just now figured out that they don't need some instruction manual from another world to make this work.

"It's just you and me." She stains a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "And I want you the way you are right now."

"Kate," he breathes.

Anticipation builds through the ruins of her chest as she hears the cheers of _3, 2, 1_. This is what she wanted to be awake for.

"Now, shut up and ring in the new year with me."

A startled laugh flutters past his lips, heats her cheeks, and she grins just before he leans in to kiss her. Cries of celebration erupt on the television, Auld Lang Syne playing from the speakers, and Kate sighs against his mouth, splays her hands at his waist. It's been so long since she's had a New Year's kiss and never would she have imagined that Richard Castle would be the man she'd be kissing. But with his smile spreading against hers and his lashes grazing her cheeks, she can't imagine wanting to kiss anyone else. Maybe he wasn't so crazy after all, or maybe his madness has spread to her.

"Happy New Year, Kate," he murmurs, nose grazing hers, lips just a breath away. Kate cranes her neck for another kiss, ignoring the sharp pang through her chest at the motion. Besides, the sound of his moan, soft and rich, makes up for everything, makes it worth it.

"Happy New Year," she echoes, smiling as his hand threads through her hair, cradles her skull. He kisses her again with adoration that makes her knees weak.

She may have two bullet holes in her chest and a well of grief that has been filled to the brim in the last few days, but she also has him, this budding new thing between them. It may be her best year yet.


End file.
